


Task Force

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Alternative Universe - FBI, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:59:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request for two tropes: fake dating and role reversal.</p>
<p>Len got out of Central years ago – took Lisa and ran, never looked back.  Nearly got arrested for it because crossing state lines with a little kid apparently upset people, but Lisa had burst into a perfectly timed set of tears and the federal agent that had stopped them had listened; he’d gotten them somewhere safe.  Len had followed that agent all the way through to Quantico.  </p>
<p>Now he's after Barry Allen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Task Force

Len got out of Central years ago – took Lisa and ran, never looked back. Nearly got arrested for it because crossing state lines with a little kid apparently upset people, but Lisa had burst into a perfectly timed set of tears and the federal agent that had stopped them had listened; he’d gotten them somewhere safe. Len had followed that agent all the way through to Quantico. 

With his juvie record and his father’s reputation, he’d been one of the FBI’s best undercover men for going on fifteen years, with his own reputation for being cold as ice as ‘friend’ after ‘friend’ that he’d made got shipped off to prison. Then he’d gotten bored taking down mafiosos and drug lords and smuggling rings, asked his bosses for a transfer to something more exciting. When they’d expressed disbelief that there was anything more exciting, he’d put a Central City newspaper on their desk and smiled.

Metahumans were the next big thing. He wasn’t going to let ARGUS have all the fun. 

Right now, he had his eye on the prize. ARGUS and General Ellison’s white whale. 

Or, perhaps more accurately, their red streak.

Barry Allen had a decent, if low-key job processing forensics at one of the CCPD stations, but Len had leaned on the NSA and stayed up a lot of late nights reading texts and emails and traffic cams, and Mr. Allen had the remarkable ability to get to a far off destination in a flash, no matter how late he was when he started out.

Just think, you get speedster powers in the greatest metahuman crisis thus far known, you steal a bunch of cons (including your father) out of prison, and you become an internationally recognized thief almost overnight – and you _still_ can’t make it to things on time. 

Len hadn’t shared his little suspicion with anyone; he had conjecture, not proof, and he hated to leave a job half finished. One of his little quirks, but one his bosses tended to appreciate when conviction time came around. Luckily, Allen had been spending the majority of the CCPD’s annual fundraising ball fending off the increasingly awkward attentions of his psuedo-sister, Iris West, who seemed to have totally missed Allen’s wild crush on her and seemed to be intent on introducing him to every woman at the party. Amazing how nosy people got after their third shot of tequila.

“Iris! I can’t – she’s, she’s…” Allen stuttered madly when nervous, apparently. Len sometimes liked to mourn for the loss of respect and dignity in the criminal profession before he remembered that he had personally played a large part in putting all the more respectable, dignified criminals behind bars. 

“What’s wrong with her?” the charmingly intoxicated Ms. West demanded. “She’s perfect for you! And don’t give me any of that ‘she’s not my type’, she is _totally_ your type! And she’s single, about the right age, doesn’t care that you work late – what excuse do you have left?”

“I’m already seeing someone!” Allen blurted out. Len eyed him with the jaded eye of an old hand at cons; the boy was obviously lying, he was about five seconds from being called out on it, and he knew all of that.

Len liked having plans – intricate, meticulous plans, with contingencies and extra options and multiple angles. But he loved puns, and sometimes those relied on having someone feed you the perfect set up line.

He slid in right next to Allen, sliding one hand around his waist and offering him a glass of champagne with the other. “Hey, babe,” he said in a low voice, ignoring Ms. West entirely as Allen turned to him with a dawning look of amazement and, Len was pleased to see, an encouraging amount of interest. “Sorry I’m late; I swung by that Thai place we like to get reservations for later tonight.” 

Allen struggled for half a second – god, he was so new at this thief business it almost hurt – but Len’d been conning bigger fish than Allen for longer than Allen’d been alive. Getting super speed in a freak accident doesn’t magically give you the sort of experience you need to survive in his shark tank. 

Sure enough, the temptation to avoid any more eligible women and Ms. West’s incessant prodding proved to be too great. 

“Thanks, _babe_ ,” Allen replied, and smiled with a shocking sincerity that wouldn’t look misplaced on a golden retriever. “You’re the best; you know how I always get really hungry at these events – oh, Iris! Um, you haven’t met–”

“Leonard Snart,” Len said. “So you’re Iris – Barry’s told me so much about you…”

Allen leaned his head on Len’s shoulder; strangely enough, it didn’t ping Len’s usual phobia of physical contact. He fit in just right. 

That was a surprise, but it wouldn’t be a problem. No one got under his skin.


End file.
